Four Times Molly Weasley is a Gryffindor Mother
by Woodrokiro
Summary: "She is not lost. She is a mum now, which means you should be even more afraid of her." Mention of Bill/Fleur. Warning: mention of character death.


**A/N:** Written for the ficathon over at kolms' livejournal, prompt: "perhaps it takes courage to raise children". I had to take it because, well, I love Molly Weasley. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** I think everyone knows I definitely do _not_ own Harry Potter. I am not a goddess like J.K. Rowling.

...

1. Had you asked Molly Prewett Weasley in her Hogwarts years what she wanted to be, she would have never said a mother.

Not that she didn't want children of her own one day, but it certainly wasn't going to be her _career_- she never knew what she wanted to do with her life in that aspect, actually, but that was beside the point. Although she occasionally fancied herself a Herbology professor, her time and mind were mostly spent on making sure her brothers didn't get themselves expelled; now that she thinks of it, she doesn't remember really considering a plan for herself at the time for when she graduated and could no longer watch them.

Well, that is until she started dating her Arthur. That changed things quite a bit.

And suddenly here she is with her most daunting challenge she thinks she has ever faced- including that time she had to lie to Professor McGonagall herself that Gidion had _not_ lit a Slytherin's hair on fire- and its name is William Arthur Weasley.

Her William. Her Bill. Her heart sings with joy each time he gurgles, melts when his little head nudges her neck; and she realizes that yes, _this _is what she is meant to do with her life, that she will live utterly content if she can do this every day.

(She already thinks she'll need at least five more of these.)

Later, her brothers will tease her that they have lost their brave, ferocious sister to this bubbling mess of goo. "She is not lost," she snaps at them, cuddling the baby closer. "She is a mum now, which means you should be even _more_ afraid of her." She can detect their and Arthur's apprehension, though; there are frightening rumors spreading around about some "dark lord" or whatnot, and strange murders have sprung up more and more across Europe. It is dangerous to live in too much bliss right now.

Still, as she looks down at her son she decides that it takes a certain amount of bravery to raise a family in itself; moreso in times like these. And Molly has never been one to back out of a challenge- she is a Gryffindor through and through, after all.

She takes Bill's fist and tries to kiss courage into each one of his little fingers.

2. Yet again, this year has hit the family hard, and yet again she is forced to take Ron and Ginny to Second-Hand Robes for their fitting.

It is Ron's third year and Ginny's second- goodness, how her babies have grown- and from what she can tell in her arms it has been a rather good haul, especially since Fred, George, and Percy weren't in any dire need of new clothes. As she waits in line, Ginny continues to pick through the hangers listlessly, and Ron glumly waits beside her (_"It can't be helped, dear," she tells him, and Ron nods as he watches the other children go into Madam Malkin's. She almost wishes she could be irritable with him, but he never complains, not about this sort of thing; it breaks her heart_). When she is at the register, a voice jeers at her son from the open doorway, and she knows it is the Malfoy boy.

"Getting secondhand robes again this year, are we, Weasley?" She hears him sneer, and she feels her son stiffen. "Better make sure there aren't any tears or embarrassing stains like there were _last year_."

It's a shame, really, because she pities the child; her sons would throw a fit if they knew, but her motherly heart knows that he could have been such a sweet boy had he been born into any other family. From the corner of her eye she sees Ron's face redden with fury and embarrassment, feels him tug at her sleeve and whisper pleadingly, "Please, Mum, let's just _go_."

Molly doesn't move an inch. She stays right there, eyebrows raised in concentration as she counts out her sickles and knuts.

She lifts her head high and her height is noticeably taller, however, when she walks past Lucius and his cold, calculating gaze.

3. She is too busy watching Bill and his new bride to notice Mrs. Delacour take a sit beside her.

"Meeses Weasley, 'ow are you?"

Molly starts, smiling brightly at the beautiful half-Veela (she really is dazzling, even as a middle-aged woman; but that's all right, Molly still bets on her life she can make the better shepherd's pie of the two). "Oh, Mrs. Delacour! I am doing lovely, though a bit teary, you know- how are you?" The two mothers make a bit of pleasant chitchat, pointing out who is who of the wedding guests to each other, and there is a brief pause before Mrs. Delacour speaks up again, this time rather stiffly. "I 'erd zat before zer was a bit ov-eh, 'ow do you say- _tension_ between you and my Fleur?"

Molly glances at her daughter-in-law's mother. There is a curiousity on the woman's face, and a glimmer of readiness in her eyes, like a snake about to strike should it be too disturbed. She knows it too well: it's a universal face of women.

Pursing her lips for a moment, she weighs her options. She can either declare the idea absolutely preposterous and a complete misunderstanding, or she can simply tell the truth. Seeing as her son asked her to behave on her absolute best on his wedding day, she sucks it up and decides on the latter.

"There was," she says slowly, considering her words carefully. She pauses, then starts more steadily. "Your daughter is a wonderful young woman, Mrs. Delacour. Truly, she is. But he-" she stops, looks on at her son kissing his wife as she tries to regain her composure, "He is my little boy, you know. He may not be the baby, and he is certainly not a boy anymore, but he is my first. My first little baby." She stops, looks over to see that Mrs. Delacour's face has softened. The other woman's eyes shift, and when Molly follows the gaze she is once again looking at Bill and Fleur.

"You are not alone in zat feeling, Meeses Weasley," from the corner of her eye she sees Mrs. Delacour wipe her own, "Fleur is my leetle girl, too."

With that, Molly for the second time in her life realizes she has underestimated a member of the Delacour family, because even at this moment she can not fathom what it means to lose a daughter to marriage. A son is bad enough, but a _girl_... She refuses to allow herself a thought of Ginny in a wedding dress or she'll start bawling embarrassingly right here at this table. Instead, she smiles, pats the other woman's hand, and reaches for her goblet. "Well, your Fleur will make us both some bloody gorgeous grandchildren- not that my handsome Bill couldn't do that on his own, but every bit counts, you know."

Mrs. Delacour smiles and raises her goblet. "Cheers to zat."

Luckily before the Death Eaters came and wreaked havoc, Molly got to have her mother-son dance with Bill. She cried the whole time as he chuckled and rubbed her back; but at its end, she lead Bill by the hand to his bride, put his hand on top of Fleur's and kissed it.

4. She really didn't have time to grieve for Fred until she got home. She took one look at the Burrow and collapsed, sobs wracking her body as Arthur hugged her tightly to him.

She did not get out of bed for three days.

Even in her room, everything reminded her of him: that corner over there is where he hit his knee and she had to kiss it better; that chair over there is where he uprighted a pin in the cushion, giggling as she sat in it; the shower curtain rod in the restroom was where he used to swing...

She could hardly look at this bedroom; how could she stand to look at the rest of the home?

She only ate what was provided for by either Ron, Ginny, or Hermione (she had no idea what she was doing in this old house when she could be with her own family, but she made no qualms; there is no time she has loved the girl like her own more than now). Arthur was often at work dealing with the new changes, too busy to grieve for his own son. When he came home, she could hear him talk quietly to one of the children, and with heavy steps he would come up the stairs, into the bedroom and into her arms.

On the third night, her husband-off from work- informed her that she had a visitor.

She had almost the energy to instruct Arthur to tell the visitor to go away, or at least scream it out herself; couldn't they see she was still grieving for her son? Her baby? One of the most beautiful things there was in this ugly world?

Still, she knew Arthur would have done just that had it not been important, so she grudgingly gets up, putting on her bathrobe as she pads down the stairs.

When she reaches the kitchen, she suddenly stops, staring. George sits at the table and stares back.

For an instant, she admits, she sees her dead son. She sees Fred in those eyes, in that body- but as fast as the thought enters, it leaves. Because before her is not her Fred, but her living, breathing George. And he is looking frail; so, so frail.

His eyes are rimmed with red, and there are dark bags under them. He looks thin, and Molly bites back the urge to ask him if he's been eating because right now she knows there are other matters more pressing.

There is nobody else in the room, and they both just look at one another for what seems to be hours. He opens his mouth, seems to struggle for words as one of his hands flutters; finally, he stills, and his face just crumples like a piece of paper. "_Mum_," he croaks out.

And she is there, with a speed that she can only credit as human nature's motherly instinct. She is there, wrapping her arms around him and resting his head into her bosom like he is a four year old child (_but he _is _a child, she thinks)._

It is here that Molly knows that she has snapped out of her trance-like state. She knows that she had to. Because while she may grieve for Fred, she has a whole family- her husband, her other sons, her daughter-she has to attend to that absolutely _need _her as George does now.

It takes a certain amount of bravery to raise a family.

It takes even more to uphold one when one member has passed and the rest is left riddled with desolation.

It is no longer a challenge for Molly; it is her purpose.

She takes George's head and kisses courage into its crown once, twice, three, four times- until she loses count.


End file.
